Page 96 of Penalty Kiss
"It's an asset to something," Levi mutters, earning a swat from his wife.
The casual intimacy of it—him holding me while his mother cooks, his brother argues with his father about security protocols, Lily bouncing her baby while coordinating logistics—makes my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
"Hey." His lips brush my temple. "You okay?"
I catch Cam's eye and see my own thoughts reflected there—this ridiculous, wonderful group of people are about to risk their peaceful lives to protect me. The weight of it should crush me, but instead it fills me with something I’ve never felt.
Belonging.
“If Karla brings a piñata,” he whispers, wicked against my ear, “we’re doomed.”
I dissolve into giggles against his chest, and for a moment—wrapped in chaos, food, and love—I let myself believe we just might win.
Four hours later, the commercial kitchen behind Candy Jar buzzes with the controlled energy of Cedar Falls' inner circle pretending to celebrate Karla's birthday.
The fake festivities are almost too convincing—someone actually brought balloons. There’s also Mrs. Henderson’s infamous bourbon cake, and Scott managed to sneak in a small karaoke setup despite explicit instructions not to.
I stand near the back of the room, Cam's hand warm and steady in mine, watching the faces of people who've become my family over the past year and a half. My heart hammers against my ribs as I prepare to destroy the careful fiction I've built.
"Ready?" Cam squeezes my fingers.
"No." I squeeze back. "But I’ll do it anyway."
Karla taps her fork against her wine glass, her birthday tiara slightly askew. "Alright, people, gather round. We only throw covert birthdays for people we like, and apparently we like Tara enough to let her crash my party."
Gentle laughter ripples through the room. Scott calls out, "Say the word and I'll 'accidentally' block the street with a fire truck!"
"Hypothetically speaking," Chief Alvarez adds dryly, "we do not condone Scott's hypotheticals."
I take a shaky breath and step forward. No more hiding. No more lies.
"Friends." I begin, my voice carrying clearly in the suddenly quiet room, "I’m not Tara Haynes. My name is Taralyn Delacroix."
The silence that follows is absolute. I watch recognition dawn on several faces—the Delacroix name carries weight, even in small-town Colorado.
"I ran away from my family three years ago because I didn’t want to live in that oppressing shadow any more. I came here because I wanted to be just Tara, just your waitress, just normal." My voice cracks slightly. "But my past followed me, and now it's threatening all of you.”
“For starters, the fire at my house, it wasn’t Cam’s PCS acting up. He’s only guilty of being sweet. The fire was set by my cousin, Lucien."
From near the dessert table, Mabel Bello, tiny but unshakable in her cardigan, clears her throat. “Honey, I don’t care if your last name’s Delacroix, Rockefeller, or Santa Claus. You’re the girl who shovels my driveway before I even wake up.” She points her fork like a gavel. “That’s who you are here.”
A laugh ripples through the tension.
“But Iama Delacroix,” I whisper, the name tasting foreign after months of burial. “Billionaires. Corporate dynasty. Everything you probably hate—only I walked away from all of it. I want nothing to do with them.”
Tomás Gutierrez, the high school music teacher, raises his soda. “You brought my choir donuts after their winter concerts. That counts more than bank accounts.”
“Damn right,” says Frank O’Leary, the retired firefighter. “You kept me company when my hip was acting up. What kind of billionaire heiress sits on a porch swing with an old man just so he’s not alone? Not one I ever met.”
“Speak for yourself,” mutters Nia Washington, who runs the local laundromat. “I always figured Tara had class. Turns out it’s just… actual class.” She winks at me, diffusing the weight with sass.
Mrs. Henderson, cane planted, harrumphs. “Child, you warm my teacup. That’s worth more than all the stock portfolios in the world.”
Her weathered hands grips her cane as she fixes me with that no-nonsense stare that's terrorized three generations of Cedar Falls teenagers. "Two sugars, splash of cream, and you always warm the cup first because these old bones need the extra heat."
My throat constricts. Of course she noticed that tiny detail I thought nobody cared about.
More laughter, softer this time, threaded with relief.
